


Vows

by GintokisGirl95



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Tags Are Hard, Vows are Important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GintokisGirl95/pseuds/GintokisGirl95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vows are made and never forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vows

"You know, you don't have to act so tough all the time," Jon said softly, holding his little sister close. "Sometimes vulnerability is nice."

"It's not nice," Arya retorted. "Vulnerability is a sign of weakness."

"Being courageous requires vulnerability. Strength is often drawn from being vulnerable. It's okay to show emotion, Arry. I want to know how you are feeling."

"You want to know how I'm feeling? I hate this!" Arya exploded. "I don't want you to leave, especially not to _the Wall_! What am I going to do by myself; I can't talk to _Sansa_ and I'm sure our Father will try to marry me off to some asshole lord in faraway lands and you of all people know I don't want that!"

_Watch your tongue,_ he wants to tell her, but doesn't. He knows that she's right. He stifles a laugh by masking it with a cough. 

"So what, do you want me to protect you for the rest of your life, never to give you away? It's going to happen, you know that, right?" He chuckled when she furiously nodded but froze when he heard her light sniffles. He released her, kneeling so he could look at her in the eyes. 

"Please…please, Arya, don't…" 

"Tomorrow will mark our last night together, won't it?" More tears sprang from her eyes as he gave her a solemn nod. 

"I don't…I don't want it to be," he apologised, wiping her tears away with his slender fingers, "…but I also don't have a choice. I can't stay; there's nothing here for me."

"You have me. You'll always have me, Jon!" She nearly yelled. "I told Sansa and Jeyne that I was going to marry you. They laughed at me, but I know it'll happen, I just know it!"

"I'd have nothing to give you, not a name, not a house…even the children will be shamed." Jon gave her a snort, then murmured sadly. "A bastard has nothing to give."

"Then be different. Don't marry out of duty, marry out of love. I don't care about houses, names, anything like that....you love me, right?"

"Of course I do," he replied quickly. "Isn't that what you'd call a 'stupid question'?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Marry me, then. Right here and right now. Give me your vows, your honour, your sword...your love." 

_But you just said you didn't want to marry!_ He knows what she is going to say, though: _I don't mind marriage if it's to you._

Jon leaned back, eyeing her curiously. She's too spontaneous. "You know I--"

"Are you lying to me, then?"

"No!" He exclaimed. "You want my honour? I'll give you that without a doubt in my mind. You want my sword? I'll gladly lay it down at your feet and swear fealty to you. You want my love? ....you've always had that, Arya. Don't pretend that you hadn't. I just…vows…"

"That settles it. We're getting married."

_She doesn't listen!_

"Arya, I don't think you quite understand the weight of what you're saying," Jon replied slowly. "They will not support this. _No one_ will support this idea. If any of the others found out I did this, your father will exile me for even considering such a thing…I'd be disgraced."

"Let's keep it a secret. We don't have to tell anyone. When we're around our lord father and my lady mother, Sansa, Robb and the rest, we'll act normal. But when we're together we'll act like a typical husband and wife."

Her brother cocked an eyebrow. "And how are we supposed to act like a typical husband and wife, exactly?"

"Don't ask questions. We'll figure it out."

He found it hard to tell her no; he always had. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded, all the while praying to the Gods that he made the right decision. "Alright, Arya. Meet me in the godswood after everyone is to bed, am I understood?"

Ecstatically, she nodded. 

_Why did I agree to this?_

_Because you hate disappointing her,_ his mind responded. 

\----------

He wondered well over a dozen times if the Gods would care about what he wore. He felt as if he knew they wouldn't, so he wore his usual attire, black leathers with brown breeches, and black boots. He looked around, making sure not a soul was awake when he snuck past the doors and out of the castle. With a small torch in hand, he led himself to the heart tree, standing before the carved face with flowing sap that looked as if the face were bleeding. Seeing it made him feel at home, yet it caused him to second-guess their plans.

_Marriage is a sacred vow. This is a vow that is wholly bound before the Gods. We shouldn't do this. We shouldn't take these vows and then forget as if the Gods did not watch us make them…_

_But Arya looked so happy when I agreed…_

He cursed himself and cast the doubting thoughts aside. He put the torch aside to half bury it next to the heart tree. Patiently, he waited under the blood red leaves, leaning against the pure white of the trunk until he heard footsteps before him. They were small footsteps, and he knew that those steps belonged to her; he righted himself, fixing his clothes.

"Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?" He asks softly, but loud enough for the approaching person to hear. 

"It is I, Arya of House Stark. A woman, trueborn and noble, comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim me?" His thoughts vanished when he saw Arya approach, placing the torch on the opposite side of his own, donned with a handmade cloak of her House. Her voice was strong, sure of this marriage, amazed that this was actually happening. There was a gentle smile on her face, and Jon almost thought she looked like a young woman, powerful and kind. The admiration that shown in her flame-flickered eyes took him aback. 

_She is never like this. She is serious about this._

"I, Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard of House Stark, wish to claim you. Arya, Lady of House Stark, will you take this man?" He felt hurt that he mentioned his bastard status, an unfortunate title that haunted him his entire life. He felt the doubt creep over him again until he feels her small warm hands cover his own. His gaze nearly trapped her, and he shot her a slow, sad smile. 

"I take this man," she says, her smile so graceful. He couldn't get over the shock of seeing her like this, so…so _ladylike_ , and he noticed that she wore a _dress_. A simple, dark grey one to match her eyes, showing off what she does have for breasts and the little curves she possessed. It nearly reached her feet, which were covered by her typical black boots.

_She looks like a true wife...almost._

They joined hands - his right in her left, appropriate for their dominant hands - and knelt, facing the heart tree and bowing their heads, eyes closed and faces at rest. They spent only a few moments in silent prayer, though it felt like much longer to Jon, and silently he looked to Arya when they were finished. He removed his cloak after he took hers from her shoulders, draping the black furred cloth over her body. They face each other once more, both hands together, staring at the other lovingly. 

"Our marriage is fulfilled," they said to each other, both leaning forward to grant the other a celebratory kiss. Jon felt Arya's breath hitch at the expectancy, urging him on, and he dutifully covered her mouth with hers, enjoying the warmth that emanated from her. He hugged her close until it was time for them to leave the godswood.

"Promise me, Arya, promise me before the heart tree that you will not tell a soul about this, Arya, no one must know."

She nodded. "I promise, Jon, I'll tell nought a soul."

His worry waned, but another question still bothered him. 

_Why does this feel so right?_ He asked himself, but the answer never came.

\----------

He asked her before what she meant by 'acting like a typical husband and wife,' and he found his answer. 

In the last day that they were able to be alone, they kissed, sometimes they were loving and gentle, and other times they were rough and passionate, depending on what Arya felt or what she wanted. Jon called her a lot of things, like _beautiful, sweet,_ and _my beloved_ , and was pleased to see how responsive Arya was to such words. When they were around Robb or Theon, or anyone else, they did as they normally did, finishing each other's sentences, Jon teaching Arya how to use a bow and arrow properly, or, when he knew their lord father and her lady mother weren't around, how to wield a sword. Sometimes they'd sneak kisses when no one was around to see. During their last night together he slipped into her room and held her until she fell asleep, then he crawled back to his room and tried to rest there. When he couldn't, he decided to spend his time doing something else. 

He looked around as he came back; his room was strangely bare; the little belongings he had were packed into a small chest. He felt uncomfortable leaving Arya, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. Robb would take care of her when she came back from King's Landing, he knew he would.

His mind often wandered back to his vows with Arya at the godswood. Strangely enough, things didn't feel different whatsoever. They felt the same, and he thought their decision, though binding until death parted them, was right. He didn't understand why he had such feelings; he just _knew._

Sadly, though, the rise of the Sun marked the time for him to leave, and it was a long walk down to the yard. 

\----------

It was bustling with life, people everywhere, noises coming from all angles. Quietly, he inched to his readied horse, placing the saddle its body, balancing the small chest on it. He looked over and saw Robb heading towards him, sadness all over his face. 

"Uncle Benjen was looking for you," Robb started, walking with Jon back to the opened doors of their castle. Jon watched the snow melting in his brother's hair from the heat of his scalp. "He wanted to leave an hour ago."

"I know. Soon." He told his brother. He looked around at the raucous noise and all of the confusion. "Leaving is harder than I expected."

"For me, too," Robb said. He looked…tired, or so Jon thought. Nevertheless, Robb put on a smile and held his arms. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

"As if I'm not already?" Jon joked, forcing a smile. "It was always my colour."

He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. Jon hugged him back, knowing that this was the last time they'd ever see each other again. He closed his eyes, half wanting their display of affection not to end, the other half of him begging for it to be over so he wouldn't feel so resentful about leaving their home. "Farewell, Snow."

"And you, Stark." They exchanged awkward glances before Robb spoke again. 

"Uncle Benjen told me to send you to the stables with Hodor if I saw you."

"I still have one farewell left to make," the raven-haired young man told his auburn-haired counterpart. 

"Then I haven't seen you," Robb replied, giving him a nod, and Jon left him in the doorway, surrounded by waggons, horses, and the swarm of people scurrying about. He walked to the armoury, picked up his package and headed to the Keep. 

\----------

Arya was in her room, folding clothes and placing them in a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. He watched silently as Nymeria sat before her, fetching items made of silk and wagging her tail happily. When she smelled Ghost, however, she gave a happy whine and laid on the floor, eyes watching Ghost's every move. Arya was in the middle of asking her why she stopped - _as if Nymeria would actually respond_ \- until she turned around and saw Jon leaning against her heavy door. She leapt to her feet, wrapping her arms around Jon's neck tightly. 

"I thought you were gone!" She exclaimed. "They wouldn't let me out to say goodbye."

"What did you do now?" Jon asked, amused. Arya let go of him to make a sour face. 

"Nothing! Well…not really," Arya began, motioning toward her chest. It was at least a third of the way full. "I was all packed and everything. Septa Mordane was wondering why I could barely keep my chest closed, so she looked in it and told me that I had to do it all over again because the clothes weren't properly folded. A proper Southron lady doesn't just ball her clothes up and throw them in her chest like they're old rags, she said."

"Is that what you did, beloved?" He asked, and she blushed uncharacteristically. 

"But…but who cares how they're folded? They're just going to be ruined anyway, and refolding takes way too much time, which makes this whole process _stupid._ "

"Septa Mordane cares, and I'm not sure how she'd take to Nymeria here helping you," he replied, bending down to scratch Nymeria's ear. "And it makes sense, though you don't agree. However, I have something for you to take, and it has to be packed _very_ carefully."

Arya's face lit up. "A present?" 

"I suppose you could call it that. Close the door." She hurriedly looked outside to make sure no one was around, then she told Nymeria to guard the door with Ghost. She shut it quietly, hoping not to stir suspicion. By then, Jon pulled off the rags that it was wrapped in, and slowly turned to her. He held it out to her. 

"A sword," she hushed in awe. She took it gently in her hands, and Jon adored the look on her face. 

"Yes," he said, "and _not_ a toy. Be careful that you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with."

Jon drew out the sword slowly, to show her the blue sheen of the steel. Arya watched the movement, her grey eyes lighting up with excitement when she came to the realisation that this was a sword that she could call her own. 

_A perfect gift._

"Girls don't shave," Arya said. 

"Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the Septa's legs?"

She giggled cutely. "It's so skinny."

"Just like you," Jon beamed. "I had Mikken make this special for you. The bravos use swords just like this in Pentos and the other Free Cities. It will not hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're quick enough."

"I can be quick."

"You have to work at this every day, so you can master it." He placed the sword in her hands, showing her how to hold it properly, and took a couple steps back. "What do you think? How does it feel for you? Do you like the balance?"

"I think so," Arya said, mesmerised, waving it around happily. He made her put her swinging hand down, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"First lesson," he said, pointing at her, "stick them with the pointy end."

She gave him a _whap_ on the arm with the flat of her new blade. The blow stung, but Jon couldn't stop himself from grinning like a moron. 

"I know which end to use." A doubtful look crossed her face. "Septa Mordane will take this from me."

"Not if you hide it well enough. Put it at the bottom of your chest. It should be a good enough hiding place."

"Who will I practise with?" 

"Don't worry about that. You'll find someone, I know it." Jon promised. "King's Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, and make yourself strong until you see me again. And whatever you do…"

Arya knew what was coming next. They said in unison, " _…don't…tell…Sansa!_ "

Jon rustled her hair. "I will miss you, little wolf."

Tears welled up in Arya's eyes. "I wish you were coming with me. I don't want to feel alone; I'm tired of feeling alone." 

"Sometimes different roads lead to the same castle. Who knows?" He was _not_ going to let himself be sad. He couldn't. He wiped away a falling tear and hugged her tightly, kneeling down to plant a kiss on her forehead. "I have to go now, love. I'll spend my first year at the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Benjen waiting any longer." 

Arya put the sword down and ran to him for one last hug. As he was laughing, she was showering him with kisses, lastly capturing his mouth with hers. He pressed her closer, deepening the kiss, feeling her gasp and he took full advantage of it. He explored her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, flicking his tongue to and fro, swallowing her moans, casting every taste to memory so it can stay fresh in his mind while he travelled farther up north. He pulled away, trying his hardest not to get carried away; though they said their vows, she was still too young. Much too young. 

Speaking of vows…

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, circular object and handed it to his little wolf.

"Here. I made this for you." 

"How long did it take you to make this?" She questioned, holding the deep brown object between her fingers. It was simple, so obviously handmade, with numerous indents in the piece, but that was what made it so special to Arya. 

"About an hour or two. I carved it out of wood so that no one would suspect anything and I polished it so you won't get any painful splinters. Does it fit you nice?" Jon watched as she slipped the wood onto her left hand's ring finger. She shot him a look that said her firm promise: _I won't forget._

"It's a little big, but I'll grow into it," she told him, overjoyed. "Thank you, Jon!"

"Anything for you." He kissed her cheek and rose, heading for the door. As he opened it, he turned around and saw that she was holding her blade again, testing the balance of it. "Ah! I almost forgot. All of the best swords have names."

"Like Ice," she murmured. She shifted her gaze from her blade back to Jon. "Does this one have a name? Oh, please tell me."

"Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favourite thing." 

She seemed puzzled at first, then quickly understood. As soon as it came to her, they said the name together: " _Needle!_ "

The memory of her laughter kept him warm on the long ride to the Wall. 

\----------

They won the battle, but at a tremendous cost. They took back Winterfell, their home, but at a cost. 

So many lives were taken that day. Thousands of bodies were piled high on top of each other, creating a thick obstacle that was hard to take care of. Sansa said it would be best to burn the bodies, and Jon agreed with her. 

He never felt so disappointed or angry in his life. 

_If Sansa told me that she was going to enlist the help of the knights of the Vale, we could have worked around them. So many people died...we could have avoided this if she had just told me..._

On his way back to Winterfell, he went back to his chambers only to pause in the doorway. There was someone there, he could feel it, but he didn't see anything. He entered slowly, eyes shifting each half-second.

"The last I heard about you, you died," came a voice, and he recognised the person almost immediately. He turned quickly at the sound of the voice, listening in disbelief. 

_That is impossible. No...it can't be..._

"I did die," he said, his voice hoarse, even more so than it had been as of late. For a moment, he heard nothing, until...

"Finally..." She replied, stepping forward into his lamp's low light. "...we meet again."

She sounded the same, but she looked different...very different. 

"A-Arya..." Jon muttered softly. He was shocked to see how much she's changed, yet retained most of her looks; she had the same grey eyes he remembered, though they seemed a little empty, like she saw too many horrific things to be affected by much. Her face was still beautiful to him, perhaps a little wolf-like, like a true Stark. 

_Father always tells me how much I look like our Aunt Lyanna,_ he remembered her telling him. 

Jon said nothing for a few moments, taking his time to just observe her, drinking in the image of her. He loved how the flickering flames illuminated her womanly frame and how her raven-coloured hair fell about her shoulders. He loved how her lips were fuller than he remembered, heart-shaped and easily desirable. He loved the contrast of her creamy skin with her dark hair. _She's grown into someone amazing, yet deadly, like a rose with poison on its thorns._

_And she had Needle at the ready._

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Seeing her, standing before him with such glory, such grace, made one thought stand out the most:

_She was alive._

She was alive, and that enough was what made life worth living. 

Quietly, she took a couple more steps forward, quickly giving in to herself and dashing to him, and he scooped her up in his arms, keeping her strongly in place, breathing heavy as he came to the realisation that she really was in front of him. She grasped him, clinging on to him as if he was the last person in Westeros. 

_Such a euphoric feeling,_ Jon thought, his body humming with the delight of seeing his beloved once more. 

She let go of him, and they sat down together on his bed, Jon wrapping his furs around them both. 

Arya extended her palm, presenting him the old, wooden ring he fashioned for her years ago. It wasn't in perfect shape, but it reminded him of a simpler time, of undiscovered secrets, delicate kisses and hushed promises ghosted on lips. He remembered every kiss he had given her, and each one of them meant too much to him. 

"I haven't forgotten," she said. "My mind often goes back to the godswood."

"It's been six years but I haven't forgotten, either."

_The words I spoke on your soft skin have never left my thoughts._

He cleared his throat before stating, "I'm happy to see you still have the ring. I was afraid you were merely pretending to like it."

"Everything you've ever gotten from me I liked a lot, and kept," she gave him a genuine laugh, bringing him back many years. "I took the first winter rose you ever picked for me with me when I left for King's Landing. It was so shrivelled…it fell apart on my clothes and I had to throw it away."

"I picked that for you when you were, what, six? You've had that a long time, sweetling."

"It's hard to let go of memories."

That, he could agree with.

They sat there in silence until Jon moved closer to her lips. 

"May I?" He nearly faltered, but was encouraged by her soft, open-mouthed nod. The kiss was unlike any of the others he had before; it was explosive, so heady, and it sent a flurry of emotions through him. Her mouth tasted of a strong ale, and the scent that lingered on her body was that of death, but he didn't care. He loved her all the same, because this is Arya he's kissing…his little Arya, grown and noble.

Her breath was heavy as they slowly came apart, and in a hurry, they shed their clothes, marvelling at how quickly they've grown in such a short amount of time. Her breath hitched when she felt his hands slowly roaming her waist and squeezed, tugging her closer, nearly pulling her onto his lap. He loved how soft her skin felt, likening it to the finest silks that he wished he could drape over her body. 

Her moans were drowned, overpowered by his own; his tongue began to explore her mouth, admiring how responsive she was to his touches. Slowly, very slowly, their kisses grew harsher to the point where teeth ground against teeth. His hand dipped down between her legs, the pads of two of his fingers astoundingly wet with a mere flick between her folds. Jon continued touching her, fingers grazing her moistened flesh while he kissed the hollow of her neck. Her hands were tangled in his mess of curls, the fingernails clawing gently at his scalp. He let out a groan, his grip on her waist even tighter.

"Jon," Arya whimpered; her brother did not respond, but instead dove his head to capture one of her nipples while his hand teased the other. His tongue swirled around the rosy pink flesh, his fingers playing with the other while another gasp escaped from her. 

"Arya…" he seethed, her name tumbling out of his mouth so callously. His fingers broke her barrier, pressed against the top of her sex and diving deeper until he was knuckle-deep in her heat. Her nails bit harder into his skin, the grip fluctuating with each gentle thrust; he loved to hear the sharp inhale she responded to him with. "Does it hurt?"

"Keep…keep going…" He stared at her straight on; he felt even more aroused as her dark hair, seemingly raven-coloured in the low light, clung to her sweaty skin. She looked so flustered, her usually pale skin flushing a lovely shade of pink, her chest heaving to inhale the sweet cool air. Jon crawled back up to her and she released her hold on his hair, instead choosing to grip the furs underneath her.

He wanted to ask her if she was prepared for what was next, but knew she was. He teased her a little, grabbing his cock and running it between her folds languorously. 

_Tell me, my beloved,_ he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. _Say you want me. Tell me how much you need me…_

" _Jon,_ " Arya warned. 

"What?"

"Stop teasing me," she snivelled. "If you're going to fuck me, then do it."

He pressed his face against her neck; he knew that it was her first time, so he stretched her slowly, his ruts cautious, noting how stiff her body was. It didn't take too long for her to be so welcoming, to widen her legs and take every inch of him; her hands made their way to his back and clawed at the sweat-coated, hot skin.

She begged for him to go faster, he couldn't not comply. His hips bucked as he grabbed her hips so firmly, taking hold of her erratic movements. Arya's body arched, gripping the furs so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her walls were quickly closing in around him, tighter than his fists. He couldn't stop the boisterous grunt that escaped his lips as he ground into her. 

_Mine, mine, mine…_ He couldn't help the possessiveness that boiled in his blood. 

Hearing her cries drove him to the edge. 

It felt so good…too good. He didn't want it to end, yet it had so quickly. Wave after wave of pleasure pierced them both, his eyesight covered with black spots before he repossessed his senses. He gave her another kiss, this one slow and gentle, but passionate nonetheless, as his come spilled inside her.

"I love you," he mouthed against her lips. Arya watched him pull away, looking down at his cock, which was covered in her arousal and his seed with splotches of virgin's blood. She never felt so weak in her life, so lazy, so sluggish. But, this was a good feeling, a feeling of peace and tranquil numbness. Arya watched him grab a cloth, wipe himself and the two fingers that he pushed inside of her, then passed her the same rag to rid herself of the wetness that covered her thighs.

"Our marriage is fulfilled," Jon told her, and she repeated, his loving gaze met with a lazy, satisfied smile, threading their fingers together and pressing her against him so intimately until sleep claimed him.

_You are No One,_ Arya heard a voice, the phrase committed to memory during her stay at the House of Black and White. 

_I am_ not _No One,_ she remarked, feeling sure of herself as she continued, waiting patiently for sleep to come to her. 

_I am Arya Stark, wife of Jon Snow._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I cannot remember exactly why I decided to write this. But I hope it wasn't too evident that I was struggling to write the smut part of it. I sincerely apologise to everyone for making this so flipping long, but I didn't feel it was very appropriate to have this as a multi-chap story. 
> 
> But again, thank you for reading!


End file.
